


Crossroads

by lachambre11



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, Harry Potter Next Generation, Post War, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-15
Updated: 2009-10-24
Packaged: 2018-10-27 09:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10806156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachambre11/pseuds/lachambre11
Summary: "It's not having what you want. It's wanting what you've got."Ron and Hermione were happily married for years, but now they're practically strangers. And when Ron's attractive co-worker shows interest in him, can he cheat on his wife? Or will the love they still feel conquer the distance between them?





	1. And The Hero Will Drown

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

_“Rain, rain, go away,_

_Come again another day,_

_All the world is waiting for the sun.”_

_Rain - Breaking Benjamin_

_*~*_

 

“Tonight was such a high.” Sarah smiled at me prettily, basking in the after-glow that only your first high-profile suspect chase and imprisonment can bring. “I don't know why anyone does drugs.”

“Being an Auror does have its perks.” 

“It's moments like these that compensate for the long hours we put in, the physical discomfort we have to endure and the lack of personal life.”

“When you put it like that, it’s a wonder we have to turn down so many applications for the program every year.” 

“I may complain about the job, but I certainly love doing it. At least, that’s the official version I’m telling our boss.”

“Harry isn't so bad.” 

“Ron.” She glared at me. “The man is a workaholic Auror completely committed to his profession and a boss that demands only excellence. And you, well, you’re obviously biased, being his best mate and all. He married your sister. You two saved the Wizarding world together.” She cocked her head to the side, eyeing me appraisingly. “Thanks for all that, by the way.”

“I got a Chocolate Frog Card out of it, didn’t I?” I couldn’t help but grin at her. The twenty-five-year-old Auror really was a good newcomer to be partnered with. Wicked sense of humour, great reflexes and spell work and as stealth as they came. Easy on the eyes, too. “What more could I possibly want for my life?” 

“It seems to me that if you were that satisfied, you wouldn’t work so hard.”

“What can I do? It’s for the greater good, and all that. If it were for me, I'd say 'sod it all’ and move to a tropical island, enjoying the sun instead of prancing around in this sodding weather getting my good old bones wet whenever I get the chance.” 

“You could just ask Potter for a vacation, you know. You really could.”

“As if he would let me take one.” 

“Pft. You allow the department to own your pretty little arse because you love this job just as much as Potter and I do, maybe even more.”

“Not everyone is as hardcore about the job as you and Harry, Sarah.” 

“No, not everyone. But you are. You’re the hardest worker of us all.”

“And does that makes me automatically unsatisfied? Maybe I’m just very ambitious.” 

“You might be ambitious, sure, but something tells me that, to you, family comes first. And if you’re spending so much time focusing on your work, maybe that’s because there’s something you’re missing in your life.”

And just like that, Sarah put into words everything I had been doing for the past few years. I wasn’t in it because I was ambitious, not at all. Or even for the glory or satisfaction of doing something that enabled everyone to feel protected. I did it because I loved feeling useful, feeling as if I was truly good at doing something. I didn’t use to work this much before. 

You see, I’d had a loving wife to come home to every night and wonderful children to love and be loved by. My life had been complete and full of possibilities and work was something that I enjoyed doing, because it was with my best mate and it meant my children would grow up in a safer world, but that was about it.

If Hermione had ever asked me to, I would have quit my job in a heartbeat to do whatever she needed me to. But she had never needed me for anything for a long time now and had never asked me to do anything for her or the children. 

And for the past years, ever since Hugo had left for Hogwarts, Hermione was all about what she could do, what she could achieve, how far she could get. And all I had was time on my hands, so to keep myself from going mental, I worked even harder.

Then I worked some more. 

Do not get me wrong, my children meant everything to me, though they got a little uncomfortable whenever I told them that. They weren’t so little anymore.

My beautiful baby girl, my Rosie, had grown from this scrawny little know-it-all into a confident young woman with grand plans of becoming a writer and changing the world in the process. She was making her old dad very proud. She had left school two years ago and was travelling across the world to get in contact with new Muggle and Wizarding cultures and write about them for a travelling column she had in Ginny’s magazine, The Lioness' Pride. 

My Hugo was all bravado and temper, an awkward seventeen-year-old with too much energy to spend. He was already taller than I was, walking around with an acoustic guitar strapped to his shoulder and had just got himself a pretty girlfriend.

And my wife… Well, she was still there — physically, at least. Always busy, bustling around, worried about every single breathing organism to walk on this Earth. Except me. Hermione was everywhere, and yet I couldn’t feel her, not like I'd used to. There was an ache in my heart where she'd used to be and it hurt like hell whenever I thought about it. 

Somehow, it was just easier to throw myself into my work like she did. It made it more bearable, easier to forget how absent she had been or how much I missed her, even when she was around our house or lying beside me in bed.

On the other hand, it made it easier to notice the little things: how she never kissed me good morning anymore or that she didn't seem to remember how we used to leave each other notes scattered around our house, telling the other how much we appreciated them or just to say that we loved each other. There were no notes now, except for the odd ones reminding me of a Healer’s appointment or an occasional letter from one of the kids she knew I would want to read and answer. 

“You’re a little ambitious yourself, aren’t you, Sarah?”

“I don’t see it like that, not as ambition, not really. I’m just motivated, passionate about everything that I do, especially my job. ” 

“Were you a Gryffindor?”

“God, no! A Ravenclaw and proud to be one.” 

“I thought Ravenclaws strived for knowledge and attached themselves by the hip to books and theories.”

“Well, most of us do, but that’s a stereotype — like saying that Gryffindors are stupid and Hufflepuffs are naïve. Some Ravenclaws have a unique approach to dealing with learning and knowledge, and I am one of them. Books never did much for me, except to help me get wherever I wanted to be. Theory can only get a person so far, and I tend to get a bit restless when I’m not moving, doing something…” 

“You should tell my wife that. I swear she’s trying to go down in history as the most literate person in the last century.”

Sarah frowned and bit her lower lip. Her pale, Irish complexion flushed, and she looked away. What had I done wrong? Had I offended her somehow? 

“Sarah —”

“Listen, Ron, we, as in my roommate Antonia and I, are hosting a huge Halloween celebration in two weeks. I know you’re all about the job, but maybe you could consider coming by? It wouldn’t hurt to relax once in a while. Drink, dance, have fun. Does this concept sound familiar to you?” 

“I might be a little too old for that, don’t you think?”

“Nonsense, you don’t look a day over thirty.” 

“That’s flattering, I suppose, as I am several years over thirty.”

“I would, I mean Antonia and I would be really happy if you could make it.” 

“I’ll talk to Hermione, she might enjoy the idea. Taking a break from work, relaxing. I guess we’re entitled to have some fun, once in a while.”

Sarah worried her bottom lip again. I was definitely seeing a pattern here, and this wasn’t the first time it had happened. Every time I mentioned Hermione, she would frown, pout or change the subject. 

I knew my wife didn’t particularly care for her, and they had butted heads about how to deal with some of the people we had arrested a couple of times, but I hadn't thought there was much to it. They had always acted, if anything, civilized around each other whenever they happened to meet.

What was it with the sudden antagonism? 

“That would be great.” She enunciated every word, sucking a deep breath at the end, and an adorable crease appeared in her right side of her lips as she did. My stomach churned. Sarah caught me staring and gave me a toothy smile that had enough power to light the entire room.

My hands started to sweat and red warning lights suddenly lit up inside my head. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. 

The lights blinked red, bold letters warning me: Danger, Ronald Weasley!

It was clear as day now why she looked putout every time I mentioned Hermione’s name or declined her invitations to grab a pint after work. 

Sarah Coates fancied me. A lot.

Oh, bloody sodding hell.

*~*

It was a couple of hours past midnight when I got home. The sound of Hermione’s non-stop scribbling on some legal parchment from her study was the only sound that could be heard in our big, empty house. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, I avoided the creaky step on the stairs and instead ended up accidentally stepping on Crookshanks’ tail. The blasted cat hissed loudly. I could almost hear Hermione perking up, about to fire a question. 

“I’m home!” It would be easier if I beat her to it.

“I can hear that,” was her answer, dripping with sarcasm. I could tell by her tone that she wasn’t amused. Oh, well. 

“Isn’t it a tad late, Ron?”

“We had a lead on McNair.” That bastard was still on the run, so many years after the fall of Voldemort. I truly hated the persistence that some daft Death Eaters still showed. “We had to chase him halfway across Glasgow then there was all the paperwork once he was safely secured in a cell.” 

“We?”

“Me and my partner.” She knew that, she knew who my partner was. What was up with all the questions? Hermione wasn’t one to forget things or play dumb. She was seriously irked by something I had done, that much I knew. 

“Sarah Coates?” Her sigh was loud enough for me to hear through the bathroom door.“The pretty, young blond on your team? The one that worked with Italy’s Elite Squad for a while and transferred back here six months ago?”

“That's the one.” 

“Oh.”I dropped my dark green set of work robes along with my common clothes on the bathroom floor, and set the hot water to its maximum. “So, it was fun?”

“A riot. You know how we, middle-aged Aurors, love to chase elderly Death Eaters out in the rain, occasionally slipping in the mud and spoiling our clothes. Some people even claim that kind of action does wonders for your joints.” 

“Ron!”The sternness in her voice carried on, even when I tried to drown myself under the constant flux of the water that was nearly peeling my skin off and turning it an angry shade of red. I had to wash away the coconut smell of Sarah’s hair and the look of raw lust I saw in her green, almond-shaped eyes. It had been a longtime since I had ever felt this…wanted.

Back in reality, I was half-hard and miserable. Groaning, I took my undesired erection in my left hand, bracing myself against the wall with my right one. 

Shallow, fast strokes and I was lost in blurred memories of Hermione and me making love in the shower, her slick hotness enveloping me, her voice murmuring sweet nothings against my skin, her pink tongue nibbling my ear lobe. I came, hurriedly and hot against my belly.

It wasn’t enough to erase the need of burying myself in Hermione’s body, of feeling her smooth and tight all over me again. 

It wasn’t enough to erase the look of pure longing on Sarah’s face.

Oh, sod it all. I couldn’t be more fucked if I'd tried. 


	2. I Want To Be Forever Young

**Crossroads**

**Chapter 2 – I Want To Be Forever Young**

“ _So let's face it, this was never what you wanted_  
but I know it's fun to pretend…  
Now blank stares and empty threats are all I have.  
They're all I have.”

Day Old Hate – City And Colour

***~***

Sarah dropped the tiny boxes of The Leakey’s take-out food on my desk and plopped down on the seat across me, sitting with her longs legs crossed and her dark blond hair all over her face in disarray.

“Roasted chicken with tangerine sauce,” she said, tying her hair in a bun secured by her wand. “The Venetian Salad without broccoli, the red type of rice and the chocolate trifle for desert. You can kiss my arse later.”

“Only if you remembered to...”

“Also bring you the Fizzling Sparks cherry-flavoured drink? Yes, I remembered. Though, I think the citrus fruits flavour is manlier.”

“...Thanks?”

“Not so fast, Weasley. You owe me one now, and rest assured I’ll return to collect sometime in the future.”

She gave me a knowing smirk, and I could feel myself blushing. Sarah was no Legilimens, but I felt like she was invading my mind, reading all the guilt-filled thoughts I had been having about her since I had realized she fancied me.

Harry strolled in my office and raised an eyebrow at the scene. I hated the fact that he seemed able to convey hidden messages through raising a single eyebrow, while the best I could do was look constipated from trying.

This particular single-eyebrow-raising, for example, was clearly stating, _“Why are you having a cosy, intimate meal with your very attractive co-worker, married-best-mate_?” I answered him with my patented eye-roll. _“Mind your own business and stop being such a nosy git, Harry.”_

“Uh...guys? I’m still here.”

Sarah was looking at us with amusement written all over her face. When Harry opened his mouth to say something, she just shrugged.

“Look, I get it. Everybody in the office knows what you boys are like, soul mates or something. Guy love and all that. I hear it’s very popular nowadays.”

“Coates, if you’re insinuating...”

“I’m insinuating nothing, oh-great-saviour-of-our-world-and-the-bloke-who-signs-my-paychecks. I don’t judge, I merely mock.”

“Well, stop mocking and start working. I need that report about Dark activity on Finland by five o’clock.”

“Right on, Master.”

She bowed at Harry and winked at me cheekily before running out of my office, leaving her coconut-ish scent in her wake. I had to stop noticing those things, as of yesterday.

“So...” Harry looked awkward, to say the least. “You don’t think that everybody thinks we’re...erm...in love, right?”

“Of course not! We’re not like _that!_ ”

“Exactly!” he bellowed. “Not that there’s anything wrong with _that_ ,” Harry added, his tone significantly lowered.

“No, sexual identity is a complex thing.” I had had enough sense to internalize this opinion after Hermione had made me sleep on our sofa one too many times, whenever I'd alluded to Dean’s bisexuality in anything other than a favourable light. I guessed that Harry had had experiences like this with Ginny, as well.

Not that she would let him sleep in her bed, anyways. As far as I was concerned, my little sister and my best mate had never shagged. James, Albus and Lily had merely been found under cabbages, as Hermione had told Rosie when she'd asked where babies came from, at the tender age of four.

That was my story, and I was sticking with it.

“Anyway,” Harry continued, trying to shake off the remaining awkwardness, “I was thinking that maybe you could start to work exclusively as the Head of our training program, and lay off the missions for a while.”

“Where did that come from, Harry? You know how much I love the fieldwork. Training clueless midgets isn't nearly as fun as chasing the bad guys.”

“Are you sure, mate? I mean, it’s quite an honour you would be passing up. The hours aren’t nearly as gruelling as the ones you have to put in now, you get better pay, seniority and a two-month vacation per year.”

“Maybe when I start going soft, like you did,” I joked. But Harry merely looked away, and I knew right then that something was wrong. The last time he had looked this shifty was when he told me he was getting a promotion and that I was going to be partnered with somebody else.

“Why am I getting the feeling that this is a forced promotion, Harry? For a candidate for the next Minister of Magic, you’re quite awful at the whole lying and being sneaky thing.”

“Look, Ron, this isn’t an easy thing to say. I hate that I have to do this, but I have no choice in the matter.” He sat down and cast a Muffliato on the door. This was even more serious than I had thought. “You’re one of the most important members of our department, and one of the most successful Aurors of the last fifteen years. But, you’re also one of the oldest members on the team, and the only one that’s still working in the field while the others have moved on.

“The powers above think it’s time for you to do the same.”

“And do _you_ happen to agree with them?” I was managing to keep my temper at bay, but my voice came out so unnaturally cold that I could barely recognize it as my own. “Do you, Harry?”

It wasn’t as though I didn’t know his answer, but I was still surprised to hear it.

“Yes.” He sighed, his face a mask of guilt and sorrow. “Unfortunately, it’s true. You’re a hell of an Auror, Ron, but you’re getting too old for the job. Your reflexes aren’t as fast as they used to be, and your body needs more recuperating time after a chase than the rest of the team.”

“So what you’re saying is that I’m dragging us down?” Harry shook his head, but I could taste blood in my mouth from where I had been biting my tongue, trying to stop myself from flinging across the room and bashing Harry’s gigantic head on the wall repeatedly. “Fuck you, Harry. You and the powers above. I don’t need to listen to this, to listen to my bloody _brother_ talking shit about the way I do my job! I don’t need your criticism, and I don’t need your pity promotion!” Harry feeble attempts at an apology did nothing to placate me.

Before I left what was probably now my former office, I turned around and granted Harry my best sardonic smile.

“I guess I was wrong about you not being Minister of Magic material, after all. You’re sneaky and cold-hearted enough to do the job with perfection. Congratulations on your journey to stardom, Ministry’s-poster-boy.”

And without a backwards glance, I shut the door in my best friend’s face.

***~***

“Ron, wait! Ron!”

Sarah was jogging behind me while I was stomping towards the lift. She finally caught up, and didn’t seem to notice my murderous mood.

“What the effing hell happened between you and Harry just now?”

“Mind your own business, Sarah. Maybe if you get a life you can stop worrying so much about mine.”

“Ouch!” She shot me an indignant look as the lift took off. “Totally uncalled for! I’ll clobber you in the head for that smart-arse remark later, when you’re less upset. I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Merlin, I wonder what gave you that idea!”

“Easy there, Grumpy.”

“What?”

“Whom, you mean.” She stifled a laugh when I shot her a questioning look. “You know, Grumpy, from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs?” I was still getting nothing. “Nevermind. Muggleborn thing.”

We reached the attic, and I strode out of the lift.

“Look, Sarah, it’s nothing personal, all right? I just don’t feel like sitting somewhere and talking about my feelings like a sodding girl, that’s all.”

“I know. That’s why we’re going to a random pub and getting royally sloshed right now. Then later, if you feel like it, we might sit and talk about your feelings like you're a sodding girl. Or just sit and not talk at all.”

“Sarah...”

“Let’s go, Weasley.”

“What about your report, the one about Finland?”

She snorted.

“As if you care about that right now.”

“True. But maybe you should.”

“I care more about you right now.” She let it slip, but looked away in a feeble attempt to avoid blushing. Her porcelain complexion gave her away, though.

I arched one eyebrow.

“Why are you looking constipated all of the sudden?”

Ok, so I had _tried_ to arch one eyebrow.

“I am not!” She arched her eyebrow in response. Bugger, she was an expert of the single-eyebrow-raising technique too. “Look, let’s just go,” I gave in.

“The first drink is on you,” she informed me, before grabbing a fistful of Floo Powder. She stepped into one of the marble fireplaces, yelled “The Trapped Leprechauns!” and disappeared in a whoosh of soot and fire.

 


	3. Racing Like A Pro

**Crossroads**

**Chapter 3 – Racing Like A Pro**

_“So drown me if you can_  
or we could just have a conversation…  
And I fall, I fall, I falter.  
But I found you before I drift away.” 

Day Old Hate – City And Colour.

***~***

“I was so sure they opened at ten...” Sarah frowned at the 'Closed' sign on the front door of Afternoon Delight’s. 

“This is bloody perfect.” I was not amused. This was the fourth pub we’d tried, and they'd all still been closed.

“I wonder how alcoholics manage to stay drunk during the day, when you can’t find an alcohol-serving pub in Diagon Alley opened at two o’clock! I thought you promised me we would get smashed and act girly?”

“Well, I did, and I’m just as surprised as you. Who knew people weren’t allowed to serve Scorching Tequilas during lunch hour?!”

“Oh, this day is shaping up to be so fun...”

“Let’s not lose hope here, okay? We still have a shot at the whole getting-drunk-and-acting-girly thing if we go to a Muggle bar or something.”

“I’m not known for dealing with Muggle beverages well.”

It’s true. I still have a spider-shaped tattoo on my left buttock from my stag night. Hermione threw a fit when she first saw it, and after many failed attempts at removal spells, we learned that because I had done it the Muggle way, it could only be removed the Muggle way. This involved a thingy called a laser that shot hot light beams at my skin. Hermione had told me it was safe, but it wasn’t her buttocks at risk, was it? The tattoo stayed there, and after a while Hermione grew fond of it, even nicknaming it 'Spidey'.

“Then we only have two options: one, go back to the Ministry and deal with whatever happened to make you angry like that-”

“Do I look like I want to be locked up in Azkaban for murder?”

“So option number 1 is discarded, then.” Sarah smiled sweetly. I had to hand it to her. In her own deranged way, she was helping me feel a lot better. “Option number 2: I have a flat fully stocked with all kinds of drinks for my upcoming Halloween party. We could drink without spending galleons in a grimy pub, with dodgy bartenders who would gossip about one third of the Golden Trio traipsing around with a pretty youngster while he should be at work. And we wouldn't have to worry about making a complete fool of ourselves in a public place as well.”

In the moment, it sounded logical enough.

“So, fancy going back to my place then, Weasley?”

I should’ve said no. I should’ve politely declined her invitation and walked away, should’ve gone back and punched Harry in the face, or tried to talk to my wife about the fact that I was feeling useless and betrayed. Instead, I found myself nodding at Sarah’s suggestion, pretending to ignore the shivers that ran down my spine when she shot me her megawatt smile and grabbed my hand to Apparate us to her posh flat in West Kensington.

 

*~*

“What in Merlin’s name are you making me drink, woman?”

Sarah giggled before swallowing another shot of the bright yellow drink in her cup. 

“It’s a, eek, Scorfing Tequila!” Scorfing Tequila? She giggled a little more. “I mean, Schortling, no, Scorching! That’s it! Scorching Tequila!” I gulped down another shot, and felt as if my throat was paper-thin with thirst. It didn’t mattered how much I drank of this thing – it only made me thirstier. “It’s supposed to be pretty good.”

“Who would want to drink this?” But we downed another shot. “It’s bloody awful! I’ve never felt more parched in my entire life!”

“I think that’s the point.”

“What do you know? You were the one who thought that this _vile_ thing was a better idea than the Firewhiskey in the first place!”

 “Firewhiskey is the liquor for pansies, grandpa.” She noticed my frown at the endearment. “Did I just manage to put my exceptionally big feet in my mouth again?”

“No, it’s nothing...” I was suddenly feeling very sober, so I poured another glass of the Scorching Tequila and gulped it down, flinching as my throat protested. 

“Ron, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that -” Sarah’s green eyes were wide and shiny. She looked drunk and about to cry at her own tactless comment.

“Sarah, it’s okay. I’m fine, I really am.” She was still looking apologetic. “You’re so drunk...” Triumph. She gave me a meek smile, and drank a little bit more.

“Look, I know you don’t feel like talking about it, but I’m guessing that Harry finally told you about your... demotion, for lack of a better word.”

“You knew about this?” The rage engulfed me again, white-hot, and I tried to get a hold of myself before I did something I would regret later. “I can’t believe this! You’re my partner! We’re supposed to be friends. You knew about this all along and never bothered to tell me?”

“It wasn’t my place, Ron. As far as I knew, it wasn’t a final decision, more of a speculation. And I don’t agree with the way it was sprung on you, because that was pure stupidity, but they do have a point.”

I was too furious to speak, but I was seriously considering throwing my shot-glass at Sarah’s pristine white walls, just to see them tainted bright-yellow.

“Aside from Alastor Moody, you’re the Auror to work the longest in the field. And Moody only worked for that long because we had two blood wars, and even he retired in between. But we’re at peace, Ron, and we have been for a long time. The evil outside, well, they’re only small fish, and the trainees are more than fully qualified to handle them. But in order for us to have competent new trainees, we need competent Aurors teaching them. And you’re the best we’ve ever had. So don’t take this as a personal offence to your skills, because I don’t really see it that way. And you’ve told me yourself that this job gets very tiring, very quickly. Maybe it’s time for you to be where you’re really needed. You know how to do the job, and you do it without hesitating. You’re concentrated, hard-working, and just plain _wonderful._ ”

I wasn’t angry anymore – how could I be? Sarah had just made me see the positive side of moving on. And even though I wasn’t pleased with the way it was played out, I could definitely see myself whipping the new trainees into shape. Some of them were getting too comfortable and sloppy, two things one shouldn’t be while working as an Auror. 

And then there was more. Sarah was looking at me in the way my Hermione used to – like I was the most important person on the entire universe. If I leaned in just a couple of inches, I could kiss her full lips and learn how she tasted. But if I leaned in, I would cross a line somewhere, and would begin walking in an unknown direction.  One that could turn out horribly. 

“ _Ron._ ” Her breath ghosted across my face, smelling like alcohol and something I could quite define, but was definitely curious to explore. “Kiss me.”

 

 


	4. You've Lost That Love Feeling

**Crossroads**

**Chapter 4 – You’ve Lost That Love Feeling.**

“ _You think your days are uneventful and no one ever thinks about you._  
She goes her own way.  
She goes her own way…  
You think your days are ordinary and no one ever thinks about you.  
But we're all the same,   
And she can hardly breathe without you.”

She Has No Time – Keane

***~***

I uselessly tiptoed my way into our bedroom, trying to avoid a late-night confrontation with Hermione. But like the light sleeper she was, she began to stir the moment I opened the door.

“Ron?” She fumbled around for her wand. “ _Lumos_. Why are you home so late?”

“I went out after work.”

“With Harry?”

“No.” I grimaced, trying to stay upright while untying my boots’ laces. “With another friend. Harry's not my favourite person at the moment.”

“What happened?” Her eyes looked for mine, and for the first time in a while, she sounded concerned and interested, which only made me feel guiltier for not telling her about what happened between me and Sarah.

“They don’t think I’m useful as a field Auror anymore,” I told her dispassionately. “They want to ‘promote’ me to head of the training group.”

“That's good, isn’t it? I thought you were tired from the long hours, the physical discomfort and the whole package.”

“I am. But do you have any idea how bloody awful it is to hear you’re no longer necessary in a job you’ve been doing for nearly twenty years? And from your supposed best mate, none the less?”

“I’m sure that’s not how Harry had meant to deliver the news.”

Hermione’s expression showed compassion and sorrow for me. Then I noticed something that had been missing from her reaction, and I dreaded her response to my next statement.

“You don’t sound awfully surprised.”

“I’m the head of the Department of Magic Law Enforcement, Ron. All the legal paperwork concerning high-profile professions goes through me, including the ones on the Auror Office. You do know that.”

“And?”

“And Harry had also asked for advice in which position to support.”

“So what you’re basically telling me is that you knew what was going to happen, that you also _helped_ it to happen, but you hadn’t thought of discussing it with me first?”

“Ron, I was consulted as your boss, not as your wife.”

“Great to know you have your priorities straight, _darling._ ”

“I’m sorry, but I fail to see how this is about your hurt feelings! I thought that this was what you wanted: a chance to keep doing your job, only with less strain involved. Harry and I both knew about your dissatisfactions, and we did what it was within our power to try and make things easier for you.”

“Why? Because I couldn’t handle being a middle-aged Auror? Because you feel as if I’m your child and you have to decide what’s best for me? Because you thought that plotting the end of my career with my best friend, behind my back, would please me? Tell me, Hermione, in which universe are you living? Are you so fucking wrapped up in your job and your ideals as to forget that I’m a fucking human being with needs, plans and goals as well?”

“That’s enough, Ron!”

“I’m not the bloody Wizengamot for you to demand order from!”

“Stop it!”

“Why are you not fighting back, Hermione? Can’t you find one sensible argument against my _over-reaction_? Can’t you make a list of everything that puts you in a favourable light, while I’m portrayed as the goofy arse in all of this?”

“Oh, just shut the hell up, Ron! I’m not the one you can blame, yell at and mistreat just so you can feel better about yourself! I did what I had to do, and I’m sorry if it wasn’t the cleverest move I’ve ever made, but I’m allowed to make some mistakes!” 

Her face was dark red, twisted into a mask of anger and hatred. I’m sure I didn’t look very different from her either. 

“I can’t stand how everyone treats me as though I’m supposed to know the right thing to do, how I’m supposed to know _everything!_ You have needs? You have plans? Then bloody _tell me_ instead of sulking around and blowing up when I don’t know about them! Grow up, Ron!” she spat, the heat and the venom suddenly gone from her voice. 

She looked tired, and I felt as if I was a hundred years old.

“Look, I don’t know what I made to make you this angry Ron, but —”

“This wasn’t about you, Hermione. I’m sorry.” She looked incredulous. “Well, maybe it was, a little. I know how you like to have things under your control, but there are some lines you just don’t cross, and you crossed one of them when you and Harry decided the future of my job without consulting me. I don’t think I can easily get past that.”

But then again, who was I to tell her off for sneaking around behind my back when I had been in another woman’s flat just a few hours ago?

“I’m truly sorry for the way things turned out, Ron. If I had known that this was how you would react, I never would have told Harry to support this decision.”

“I know.” And once upon a time, she wouldn’t have kept this information from me. She would have _known_ how this would make me feel. But the distance between us just kept steadily growing larger, and I had just helped add a good few miles to that. “But yelling at each other like this won’t make anything better. We’re both tired and in desperate need of some cooling off. Maybe we should sleep on it and try to talk in the morning, when we’re less emotional.”

“Oh, Ron, I’m sorry, but tomorrow I leave for the convention in Vienna about worldwide regulation for magical creatures. I thought you knew.”

“I guess you forgot to tell me.” 

Hermione looked like she was about to apologize again, but I shrugged it off and went to the loo. When I came back, she was pretending to be asleep in our bed, and the light on her wand was out. I put my own on my bed table, near our wedding photo and a picture of Rosie and Hugo taken last summer.

“ _Nox.”_

I lay awake for the better half of that night, a bitter taste of shame and regret in my mouth and memories of blond hair and sorrowful brown eyes while Hermione tossed and turned in her sleep next to me.


End file.
